


The God of Death’s Champion

by teecup_angel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teecup_angel/pseuds/teecup_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort was sleeping while possessing some poor animal in Albania when an enigmatic man appeared before him and granting him a chance to do what he had failed to do before.<br/>… to kill Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God of Death’s Champion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairy_phyre](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fairy_phyre).



> A one-shot playing with Harry being MoD… with a twist XD
> 
> This is part of the massive uploads this week brought by the fact I had no internet last week and I found some of my unfinished Harrymort fanfiction lying around. So… yey?
> 
>  
> 
> Like CaRB:  
> “This is speaking in English”  
> “<< This is speaking in Parseltongue >>”  
> “This is speaking in English <<then in Parseltongue >> then back to English... just to be clear...”
> 
> Warning that applies to every chapter:  
> 1\. Voldemort x Harry is pretty much implied  
> 2\. Harry is eight  
> 3\. There are two Harry(s) in this fic  
> 4\. One of them is “Master of Death” Harry (world-hopping version)  
> 5\. unbeta'ed but that's already given  
> 6\. so, so many dialogues  
> 7\. Flower Meaning (based on 花言葉) because I'm trash like that

Voldemort knew he was dreaming.

  
It was the most plausible explanation to why he was corporal instead of a wispy soul currently possessing a snake.

  
It was the most plausible explanation to why he was standing in an open field of white lilies instead of a dark forest in Albania.

  
It was the most plausible explanation to why there was a man in front of him, wearing black robes that seemed to move in waves as if they were underwater, and a wooden cane with carvings of elder berries after every five inch.

  
Voldemort almost sneered as he remembered a wand that had similar carvings of elder berries.

  
But the man in front of him was not Albus Dumbledore. The man had messy black hair but Voldemort could see glitters all over his hair. It gave the impression of the nightly sky. His skin was incredible pale and it was the sickly kind of pale that seemed to connote terminal illness or an incredibly grave curse. The paleness of his skin only brought out the vibrant green hue of his eyes. They were the same shade as the Killing Curse and they stared at Voldemort without blinking which only served to unnerved the Dark Lord. His lips were pale in colour, the same colour Voldemort had seen in corpses. Dark shadows seemed to ooze from his robes and his robes cover his feet, making it impossible to know if he was barefooted or if he wore any kind of footwear. Other than the cane he had placed in front of him with his left hand resting on the top while his right hand rested on top of his left, the only other accessory he had was a ring he wore on his right ring finger.

  
A ring Voldemort recognized...

  
"Your ring is still safe in the Gaunt shack. It will remain safe there for the next eight years." The man said, as if hearing Voldemort's thoughts. His voice was raspy and low. It was as if the man had not spoken for a very long time.

  
Voldemort raised his head to stare at the man in front of him and asked, "And how would you know that?"

  
The man smiled. It was a crooked half smile, almost as if the man hadn't smiled for a long time and had forgotten how.

  
"It's written in my book."

  
"In your book?" Voldemort repeated, tilting his head slightly.

  
The man shrugged and expounded nonchalantly, "I call it a book but it's more like a record file, really. It lists how and when each being dies."

  
Voldemort's eyes widened at that. It took a second for him to regain his composure to ask, "And that book lists my ring?"

  
"It lists the Hocrux you have placed in the ring." The man clarified, not bothered by how his words had frozen the man in front of him. The man caressed his own ring as he explained, "Each of your Hocrux is considered as a separate soul. As such, they are considered as a separate being. Each being will be written in my records as long as Fate has written the ending to their story."

  
Voldemort's head was filled with questions.

  
Fate?

  
You know about my Hocruxes?

  
My Hocrux will 'die' in six years?

  
But the question that formed on his lips was "Who are you?"

 

The man raised an eyebrow and he teased, "Really? I would assume that my hints would be enough for you to form the correct conclusion, Tom. Or are you saying I overestimated your level of intelligence?"

  
"Do not call me by that name!" Voldemort hissed angrily, glaring at the man in front of him.

  
The man merely rolled his eyes and drawled, "Well, there is no way I'm going to call you by your anagram. It's not like you can fly away from me."

  
Voldemort stared at the man owlishly. He blinked a couple of times before he said, "Death...?"

  
"Yes, my dear?" The man retorted with a wobbly grin. It was more natural than his crooked half smile and Voldemort mildly wondered if it was because the man still remembered how to grin or he was getting used to smiling.

  
"You're Death?" Voldemort asked for clarification, wondering at how strange this dream was.

  
The man pursed his lips and he looked like he internally debating over something. After a few seconds, the man finally replied, "Not exactly... it's more accurate to call me the God of Death."

  
"The God of Death?" Voldemort repeated, staring at the man like he had developed another head in front of Voldemort.

  
"Many magical beings are more used to my title of Master of Death, I suppose." The man clarified with a shrug, "But considering I am a powerful immortal being that cannot be controlled by Fate and Time, it's more accurate to call me the God of Death. Death is another separate being similar to Fate and Time. I am its master in a sense that I hold the final say in each death that occur in this world and I am not chained to this world alone, unlike Death. Fate and Time are allowed to write the end for each being but I am allowed to change their written endings..."

  
A grim smile appeared on the man's face as he added, "... most of the time anyway."

  
"That's the reason why I'm here actually." The man concluded, turning slightly to the side before saying to Voldemort, "Walk with me, Tom."

  
Voldemort glared at him but followed him regardless. His robes flowed behind him in the same unnatural wave one usually sees underwater. Black wisps of smokes emit from the hem of his robes, covering his feet if they even exist in the first place. They were simply walking a straight line, the open field of lilies seemingly endless in Voldemort's eyes.

  
"This isn't a dream. Well... you are currently sleeping but I'm not something you conjured up. I really do exist." The man (god?) explained with a shrug and clarified, "I suppose you can say I pulled your consciousness from your dream state to this place."

  
"And what is this place?" Voldemort injected, making the man purse his lips.

  
"Er..." The man kept quiet for a few seconds before explaining, "This is kinda like a pathway between two minds."

  
"You see, I've been in the company of Fate for a while now. She's always been a fan of the classics. Good versus evil, redemption through death, the power of love, all that rubbish." The man shivered after saying that before continuing, "She had just finished writing your Fate a few days ago."

  
The man shrugged as he admitted, "I say a few days but that's really just an expression to us. I honestly do not know how to explain how long I have been with Fate in terms you would understand."

  
"Anyway..." The man said in a sing-song like manner before continuing, "Writing your fate meant writing the fate of many other beings. One of which... she had..."

  
The man pursed his lips once more and became thoughtful, obviously debating on which words he should use. During his silence, Voldemort took the time to observe their path. The white lilies were starting to be replaced by red spider lilies. A few meters in front of them was a small white door standing in the middle of the field of spider lilies and that seems to be where the man was taking them.

  
"There is a certain boy who has been thrown away by Fate." The man finally said, staring at the door.

  
"Thrown away?" Voldemort repeated, turning his head to stare at the man he was following.

  
"Fate does not need a child. She needs a saviour, the main character who will vanquish the villain called Voldemort." The man's words were laced with bitter resentment, "A broken child would simply not work for the play she has written."

  
They finally reached the door and Voldemort noticed that on the other side simply continued to the field of red spider lilies. The man stepped to the side and turned to face Voldemort. He stared at Voldemort and asked, "Perhaps you would know this child better as Harry Potter?"

  
Voldemort's face contorted to an angry snarl at the mention of the child that had destroyed his body.

  
The man smiled grimly at the look on Voldemort's face and said, "He's on the other side of this door."

  
Voldemort stared at the door then at the man smiling grimly at him. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "And what am I supposed to do?"

  
"Open the door, Tom." The man softly ordered, smiling sadly at him.

  
It was a bit sad how it seemed that the man could naturally smile such sad and grim smiles but had problems forming his lips to happy smiles.

  
Voldemort gave him one warning glare before turning his attention to the door in front of him. He grabbed the knob and twisted it. He pushed the door opened and took a step inside.

  
Dark.

  
It was dark.

 

There doesn't seem to be any kind of lighting on the other side. The only light source Voldemort had was the light streaming from the open field on the other side of the door. The man didn't enter. He simply took a step forward so he was behind Voldemort but remained on the open fields of the red spider lilies.

 

Even with the light from the other side, it was still too dark to see anything.

  
"Try casting Lumos." The man suggested, seemingly knowing what Voldemort was thinking.

  
It was getting annoying.

  
Voldemort raised his hand, his palm open and focused his magic on the empty space on top of his palm as he imagined a ball of light in his mind.

  
Voldemort closed his eyes when a flash of light erupted on his palm. He felt his magic stabilize and he opened his eyes. A sphere of light floated on top of his palm. Voldemort pushed the sphere up and it started floating away from Voldemort.

  
It hit a ceiling of some sort and stayed there, casting an overhead light to...

  
A bedroom?

  
But it was too small to be a normal bedroom.

  
It was dusty and there was a small cot on one side. He could see cobwebs on the corners of the small room.

  
A few articles of clothing were on the ground, some were dirty with mud while others were smudged with...

  
... blood?

  
Voldemort took a few steps forward and knelt to pick the shirt that looked like it had dry blood on it when he heard something.

  
It sounded like a whimper.

  
Voldemort looked all over the small room and his eyes widened when he noticed the far left corner.

  
There was a small figure lying on his side, curled to a tight ball. The figure was naked but there was no skin. All Voldemort could see were muscles and tissues of a human being. The figure was covering its face with its knees but it whimpered once more when Voldemort got up.

  
Voldemort felt sick.

  
Looking at the flayed... thing... on the floor was nauseating.

  
Yet he felt an intense desire to come closer, to hold it in his arms.

  
So he took a step towards it.

  
It quivered and whimpered, curling tighter on itself.

  
Voldemort slowly touched its shoulder. The moment his hand touch the muscle, it cried, begging in a young boy's voice, "I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Please don't hurt me. Please stop hurting me. I promise I'll be good. I promise I won't do anything freaky anymore. Please, please, please, please."

  
Voldemort hastily stepped back, as if he had been shocked. He felt the magic coming from it- no... from the boy.

  
He knew that feeling.

  
It was the same feeling he had whenever he wore his family ring.

  
A Hocrux...

  
This flayed whimpering boy begging to be forgiven was a Hocrux.

  
His Hocrux...

  
But there was something different about this boy.

  
What was different about this boy?

  
"Eight years ago, you accidentally created a Hocrux when you tried to kill Harry Potter. That Hocrux attached to the nearest thing during its creation, the infant Harry Potter." The man said as he stared at Voldemort. His eyes looked grave but tired as he continued, "For eight years, that Hocrux had been growing hand-in-hand with Harry Potter and have grown attached to the child. Ten days ago, Fate came while Harry Potter was sleeping and created another personality. The personality of a kind meek pure martyr child who believe in good and wishes only to be loved..." 

  
"Fate took out Harry Potter's original personality and threw it away. Her created personality is now Harry Potter, the perfect main character in the play she has written." The man pointed his cane at the whimpering boy as he continued, "Harry Potter's original personality would have faded into nothingness but your Hocrux grabbed onto him. It held him tight and absorbed him in a desperate attempt to keep the original personality alive."

  
"Why?" Voldemort whispered, turning to stare at the man who seemed to have all the explanation.

  
Why would Fate need to create a new personality?

  
Why would his Hocrux do such a thing?

  
Why does he look like that?

  
Why?

  
"The original personality is..." The man paused for a second before finally finishing his sentence, "... broken."

  
"He had been abused by his own relatives ever since he was three for the smallest of things. He was used as a servant and would be punished when he could not finish his chores or they were not to his relatives satisfactory by beating him, locking him in this small room that was originally just a cupboard under the stairs or not giving him food. Most of the times, it was a combination of the three. He had managed to survive because of his magic. Unfortunately, using his magic constantly to sustain his life had the side-effect of him being more prone to accidental bouts of magic. If the boy shows even just a hint of 'freakiness', he would be punished as well. It's an endless cycle of torture."

  
The man lowered his cane and looked at the ground as he continued, "He's a broken child. More broken than you ever were."

  
The man closed his eyes and explained, "Fate has no need for a broken child. A broken child cannot fulfil the role Fate has decreed for Harry Potter. That is why... she created a false personality, a new personality that matches everything Fate wanted for the hero of this tragic tale of Voldemort."

  
"During these past eight years, your Hocrux had developed a kind of..." The man opened his eyes and raised his head to stare at Voldemort as he said, "... possessiveness over Harry Potter. Some might call it love, I suppose. It is more accurate to say that it was possessive over Harry Potter because Harry Potter belongs to it, a twisted form of familial and romantic adoration. Due to its... feelings for the boy, it did not accept the new personality and tried to keep the original alive. The only way it could do that was to absorb it, to make it completely his..."

  
The man turned to stare at the boy curled on the floor and said, "And that is the result. Instead of simply hosting a Hocrux, the original Harry Potter has become your Hocrux."

  
Voldemort turned to stare at the whimpering boy who kept on pleading him to not hurt him anymore.

  
This was the boy who was destined to kill him?

  
No.

  
That wasn't right.

  
Fate didn't want this boy.

  
Fate created another personality that would be the one to kill him.

  
Then who was this child?

  
His Hocrux?

  
"Why did you bring me here?" Voldemort asked the man but kept his eyes on the whimpering child.

  
"The assimilation of your Hocrux and Harry Potter is not yet complete. You can still separate your Hocrux and take it with you." The man informed him, staring at Voldemort.

  
"And if I did?" Voldemort turned to stare at the man before asking, "What will happen to this Harry Potter?"

  
The man gave him a resigned sad smile as he whispered, "He will die, in a sense. Without the Hocrux to anchor him, he will fade to nothingness."

  
Voldemort turned to his attention back on the small curled figure on the floor.

  
Voldemort knelt in front of the child and slowly placed his hand under the boy's head. The boy curled tighter onto a ball and his voice became louder, more desperate as he begged, "Please, no! I promise I'll be good! I promise I'll do better! I'll clean faster! I'll cook the bacon perfectly next time! I'll weed the garden! Please! Please! No more! Please don't hurt me anymore. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-"

  
The boy gasped when he was suddenly pulled into Voldemort's chest. Voldemort held him tight, whispering in his ear, "Hush, child. It'll be alright. I will not harm you."

  
"Lieslieslieslies." The boy whispered rapidly, "Everyonelies.Nobodybelievesme.Hurtshurtshurts.Don'tbelieve.Don'tbelieve.He'llhurtme.He'llhurtme.Everyonehurtsme."

  
"I will not hurt you. I will protect you." Voldemort whispered back, trying to soothe the trembling boy.

  
"You cannot help him, Tom." The man whispered, staring sadly at them, "He is too broken. He can never be a normal child. His assimilation to your Hocrux has twisted what remains of his mentality to be more possessive, more apathetic to others... He's... He can't be save-"

  
"Enough!" Voldemort ordered, glaring angrily at the man who had taken a step back instinctively. The boy jumped out of surprise in his arms but Voldemort held him tight, caressing his head as he hissed at the man, "I said I will protect him and I will. Not even you-"

  
"God of Death-" Voldemort sneered mockingly the title that the man has given himself, "-will stop me from protecting him! He is mine and I protect what is mine!"

  
They stared at one another, Voldemort's blazing red eyes angrily glaring at the man's surprised green eyes.

  
Voldemort's focus dropped when he felt a weak small hand caress his cheek. He turned to face the child in his arms and his breath hitched as green eyes the same hue as the Killing Curse stare at him tearfully. The boy's lips trembled as he whispered, "Yours?"

  
"Yes." Voldemort held him closer and pressed his forehead against the child's own, "You're mine and I will protect you for all eternity. My Hocrux..."

  
The boy rested his head on Voldemort's shoulder and wrapped his weak tiny arms around the older man's neck. He stared at the man on the other side of the room, a small twisted smile on his face as he whispered, "Yours."

  
The man's eyes widened at the sight of that smile and the boy turned his head to stare at Voldemort. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead on the crook of Voldemort's neck. The boy hummed lightly before finally falling asleep, holding onto Voldemort tightly.

  
Voldemort caressed the boy's head twice before standing. He held the boy in his arms tightly and glared at the man. The man stared at him for a few seconds before sighing in a resigned way. A sardonic smile appeared on his face as he said, "You never fail to surprise me, Tom."

  
The man took a step to the side and waited silently for Voldemort to step out of the room. The man raised an eyebrow when he noticed that Voldemort had kept a larger gap between the two of them, cradling the boy in his arms protectively as he glared at him. The man rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, for heaven's sake, loosen up, Tom. I'm not going to harm either of you."

  
"You brought me here to kill him." Voldemort accused.

  
"I did." The man acknowledged with a nod.

  
"And you're fine with the fact I did not?" Voldemort sneered, obviously not trusting the man.

  
The man shrugged as he explained, "Oh, don't get me wrong, I am surprised you didn't. I'm even more surprised you accepted that boy as 'yours' in the first place. But regardless of my... suggestions, I will honour your actions. I am on your side."

  
"Why?" Voldemort asked warily, "Why are you on my side?"

  
The man smiled sardonically as he said, "Fate's a bitch, Tom. I've already lived the play she created in another world and I hated it. Fate... she never changes and I'm sick of her doing whatever she pleases."

  
The man turned to look at the little room on the other side of the door and said, "If you had taken your Hocrux, that room will become directly linked to the new personality in a few days. I would have suggested killing Harry Potter then."

  
"And now that I've taken the original Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked but kept his eyes on the man.

  
The man shrugged and said, "Same thing will happen. The only difference is this time you can just sic the original Harry Potter on the new personality to regain control over his body."

  
"Now, I'm not saying your Harry will automatically win, mind you." The man added, turning to stare at Voldemort, "Your Harry is a broken child, both mentally and emotionally. He latched onto you because you wanted him. He's now fully dependant on you and you can easily mould him to whatever you want. His entire world is now you and he won't let anyone get in between the two of you. Congratulations, Tom. You acquired a minion who is more fanatically loyal to you than Barty and Bella combined and has the same possessive streak as you do. Have fun spending your entire life with that little menace in your arms."

  
"How can you be so sure?" Voldemort asked and followed the man when he started walking back towards the direction of the field of white lilies.

  
"When I received my..." The man smiled sardonically as he continued, "... godhood, I regained my original's memories and personality. I spent a century just trying to regain my sanity."

  
The man shrugged as he commented, "Never did have all of them back in the end."

  
"Your original?" Voldemort repeated, stopping as he stared at the man's back. The man stopped as well and turned around, smiling bitterly at Voldemort.

  
"This isn't the first world to have the same kind of Fate, Tom." The man explained, "Unlike me, Fate herself can only govern her own world. As such, each world has their own Fate. On the other hand, I am the God of Death. Each world has their own Death but they all bow down to me. I tend to get bored watching over a world for too long so I... travel, I guess that would be a suitable verb to what I do, to another new world to... observe mostly."

  
The man sighed tiredly before continuing, "It seemed that every Fate is bound to write the same play about you. They all make Harry Potter your vanquisher by changing his personality. After observing the same play over and over again, I... snapped."

  
The man smiled at Voldemort and said, "So this time, I'm siding with you."

  
"You said you regain your original's memories and personality." Voldemort repeated and the man nodded. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Considering your appearance, would I be correct if I assume you were once the Harry Potter that the Fate of your original world created?"

  
"Yes." The man (Harry?) nodded with a wry smile, "Apparently I'm the first one to gain godhood, every other Harry after me can no longer become the God of Death. They are still able to become the Master of Death but they are only the master of the Death in their world and, if they take that title, they will be bound to serve me as well."

  
"And you would side with me? The killer of your parents?"

  
The man (he still refuse to call him Harry, Harry was the sleeping boy in his arms) shrugged and replied, "The Tom Riddle in my world has already perished. I've spent centuries rewatching this play and I've been a god for a very long time now. I've had enough time to become apathetic to a lot of things. Personally, I like you now."

  
"You do?"

  
The man rolled his eyes and pointed at himself as he said, "Hello? God of Death? I kinda get off death and genocide."

  
The man frowned as he mumbled, "Oh, wait. That sounded wrong. Get off? Turn on? Er... Hhhmmm..."

  
The man pursed his lips and closed his eyes as he thought of a better word to use. A few seconds later, the man opened his eyes and grinned as he corrected, "I get giddy! There! Yes! That's more accurate."

  
The man nodded to himself while Voldemort simply stared at him, wondering just how much sanity he did manage to salvage.

  
"Anyway, anyone who can bring more death has my favour now and you being a Dark Lord mean death, carnage and mayhem." The man said nonchalantly at Voldemort. He nodded and commented, "Oh yeah. Carnage and mayhem are more of Chaos' alley but we're pretty close. We have afternoon tea every Saturday."

  
Voldemort did not know how to reply to that.

  
He has afternoon tea with... Chaos?

  
"Anyway..." The man waved his hand dismissively before pointing ahead, "Just keep walking straight ahead and you'll stumble upon your own door in a field of white lilies. When you enter there, you'll be in your mindscape. I'm sure you can take it from there."

  
"You're leaving?"

  
"Awww, Tom. Don't worry. You'll see me again." The man drawled, batting his eyelashes which only made Voldemort want to Crucio him. The man chuckled and shook his head as he said, "I have to stay here. I can feel Fate coming and I'd rather you not meet her. Her shrieks make Molly Weasley's howlers sound like a very soothing lullaby."

  
"Now shoo." The man waved his hand like he was shooing a stray dog (Voldemort felt the urge to Crucio him again), "Let your god take care of this for you."

  
"If you really were my god, you would help me acquire my own body." Voldemort sneered at the man.

  
The man's lips curved into an amused smile that still looked awkward on his face and replied, "Well, I've already screwed with her play this badly by just letting you have the original. I suppose I can give a helping hand..."

  
The sleeping boy in his arms whimpered and held onto Voldemort tighter while Voldemort felt a slight shift in the air around them. It was becoming warmer.

  
Disgustingly warmer...

  
"Go now, Tom." The man ordered, raising his head to stare at the sky, "The original will probably have a panic attack if he meets Fate right now. Go to your mind-space. I've already warded the door. No other supervising beings can enter it but me and Death."

  
Voldemort stared at the man for a second before asking hesitantly, "I will see you again, correct?"

  
The man lowered his head to stare back at Voldemort. His lips curved into a resigned fond smile as he replied, "I will always come back to you, my Dark Lord."

  
The lilies around them began to bloom and wither rapidly. The clouds began to part and a beam of light started to appear just a few feet away from them. The man turned to face the beam of light and ordered, "Go now!"

  
Voldemort turned around and ran. It didn't take too long to get to the door. The entire field was slowly withering, turning into a disgusting hue of brown. Voldemort reached his door but there was no knob for him to turn. Instead of a knob, the entire door was decorated by carving of snakes coiling at each other. Voldemort noticed the snakes were staring at him, blinking at random intervals.

  
He felt the air stop.

  
"<<Open>>" Voldemort hissed in the language of snakes. The snakes quickly uncoiled and slither to the frames of the door. Voldemort entered his mind-space just as he heard a woman shriek loudly.

  
"HARRIEL!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!"

  
Voldemort turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman wearing flowing white robes floating down from the beam of light before the snakes coil around the door once more, effectively cutting Voldemort's mind-space from the fields of dead lilies.

  
While Voldemort remained safe in his mindscape, the god of death called Harriel sighed and corrected, "That's not my name."

  
Fate glared at him and sneered, "You're one of the greater gods, you insufferable brat. A god of your status deserves a more respectful name than 'Harry'."

  
Harriel sighed tiredly, knowing it was useless to try and change Fate's mind so he asked instead, "Can you change your form?"

 

Fate flicked her red hair and drawled mockingly, "Why? Does it hurt seeing the face of your late wife, my dear Harriel?"

  
Harriel wryly smiled and said, "More like annoying. Your childish attempt to tug my non-existent human heart has gone passed amusing the first ten worlds I've met the same variation of you."

  
"Then perhaps you would be more amicable to this..." The twenty years old Ginny Potter nee Weasley morphed into the sixteen years old Tom Riddle wearing his Hogwarts uniform (more commonly known to Harriel as the diary Hocrux) and Fate mocked him in an overly sweet voice, "... form, my dear 'Harry'?"

  
Harriel's eyes narrowed and he warned, knowing the hidden threat in Fate's new form, "Tom Riddle is under my protection now, Fate. You cannot harm him."

  
"Not directly." Fate corrected, twisting Tom Riddle's face into a condescending smirk, "Voldemort will die, Harriel. Regardless of your protection, regardless of Chaos' and Death's fondness over him, I will get my happy ending. No one can defy Fate."

  
Harriel's lips curved into a malicious smile and he caressed Tom Riddle's face softly as he whispered, "But that's where you're wrong, my dear Fate. It is not protection I have offered Tom."

  
Harriel rested his forehead against Fate's and proclaimed, "Tom Riddle is now my champion."

  
Fate's eyes widened and backed away from Harriel quickly, Tom Riddle's form morphing back to Ginny Weasley as she screeched, "You dare declare war upon Fate!?"

  
Harriel raised an eyebrow as he asked mockingly, "That is what it means to declare a champion to another supervising being such as you, does it not?"

  
"You will regret this, Harriel! My champion had defeated Chaos' champion before! He will defeat your champion as well!" Fate shrieked and the withered lilies around them bloomed once more.

  
Harriel glared at her and retorted with a sneer, "Grindelwald was emotionally compromised. My Tom will destroy your Dumbledore."

  
"You shall see, Harriel! This obsessive adoration you hold for that boy will be your downfall!" Fate declared before her entire form erupted to a blinding light.

  
Harriel remained unaffected by the light and simply glared as Fate disappeared. He glared at the ground Fate had stood for a few seconds before sighing tiredly. He rubbed his forehead, brushing his fingers on where his scar had been when he was still Harry Potter out of habit as he mumbled, "He can't be my downfall when I've already fallen, idiot..."

  
Harriel took a deep breath and composed himself. He tapped his cane to the ground twice and the field of white lilies turned into red spider lilies. Harriel ungracefully fell on the bed of red spider lilies and stared up at the cloudy sky as he called out lazily, "Death."

  
A black mist formed just a few feet on his right side. The mist swirled into a small tornado the size of an average adult woman before materializing into a woman wearing the same flowing black robes as Harriel. The face of a thirty years old Hermione Weasley nee Granger placed her hands on her hips and stared at Harriel disapprovingly as she scolded, "Please show more decorum, master. You're a higher being. Higher beings do not drop and lie on the ground like a child wanting to make a snow angel during winter."

  
Harriel frowned at Death's form and groaned, "What is it with you beings and your habit of taking the forms of the people I like?"

  
Death sat next to him and began braiding her bushy hair as she replied, "Because, unlike you, we have no real forms so we borrow the forms from your memories. I pick this form because she's one of the few people who were able to scold you and make you feel bad whenever she did. I assume Fate took the form of your late wife because of your supposedly happy ending. Taking the form of Tom Riddle from time to time is simply her trying to annoy you."

  
Death tied her now braided hair with a simple black ribbon as she asked, "Now, why did you call me in this place? I can't kill the new Harry Potter directly as I have told you before. Fate has put him under her protection. I suppose I can manipulate someone to have a murder-suicide cause of death if you insist. His aunt, perhaps?"

  
"Oh no. I'll leave his end to Tom." Harriel waved his hand dismissively and Death raised an eyebrow.

  
"Oh? So Tom Riddle is now our dear champion?" Death asked for confirmation, curving Hermione's lips into an amused smile as she commented, "My, my. Fate must have been so furious."

  
"She was." Harriel informed Death, sitting up. He dusted the petals off his hair as he said, "Now then. We can't have our champion stuck as a snake now, can we?"

  
"Oh heaven's no." Death nodded and wrinkled her nose as she said, "That would be embarrassing. We’ll be the laughing stock of all the supervising beings."

  
The smile on Hermione's face turned into a sadistic smirk and a manic glaze appeared in her eyes as she asked, "Am I correct to assume we will be assisting in giving him a body that befits the champion of Death and its master?"

  
"I would appreciate it if you make that a priority." Harriel nodded and tilted his head as he suggested, "Perhaps a hundred souls would suffice?"

  
"Nonsense!" Death patted Harriel's knee lightly and corrected, "Seven thousand non-magical beings would be better in creating our champion's body. I have the perfect accident in mind. A magical sacrifice will be required as well."

  
"You think Chaos would mind if we sacrifice his last champion?" Harriel asked, grinning at Death.

  
Death scoffed and said, "Chaos is still cross over his champion's lost simply because of love. He would be more than happy to donate his champion in our war against Fate. Give him a bit of your time and he'll probably even let us borrow his disciples and wards as well. He has been itching to get Fate off her pedestal for eons."

  
Death stood and dusted her robes as she said, "I will make the necessary preparations for his body. I will contact you once everything has been prepared."

  
Harriel stood as well and nodded, "Thank you, Death."

  
Death bowed as she replied, "I am but your humble servant, my master. It is my greatest pleasure to be of service to you."

  
Harriel grimly smiled as he said, "Then I suppose I should visit Chaos and tell him we're taking his champion."

  
Harriel shrugged as he added, "For formalities sake."

  
"Good idea." Death nodded, Hermione's face curving into a bright smile. She pursed her lips and asked, "But should we leave our champion unprotected for that long?"

  
Harriel chuckled and reminded Death, "We’re talking about Tom. He's harder to kill than a cockroach."

  
"Ah, that is quite true." Death nodded with an amused smile, "Very well. I shall see you soon, Master."

  
"I'm counting on you, Death." Harriel said with a slight nod.

  
An innocent happy smile appeared on Hermione's face before Death was engulfed by a whirling black mist. The mist swirled violently for a few seconds before exploding, slowly disappearing in the air.

  
Harriel crouched down and picked seven red spider lilies before standing up. He tapped his cane on the ground thrice. On the third tap, a loud gong sound vibrated on the ground, shaking the flowers. Thousands of red petals flew to the air before stopping in mid-air. The petals began swirling around Harriel, quickly closing the gap between them and the unmoving man. Harriel closed his eyes the moment the petals covered him.

  
A second later, the red petals fell on the ground.

  
The man was no longer in the field of red spider lilies.

**Author's Note:**

> This... is a one-shot for fairy_phyre (although the account has been deleted) but there might be a chance of more of it happening… maybe… I mean I have an idea but no concrete story flow or anything.
> 
> This is, I guess, my take on the common plots of MoD!Harry, Do-Over-Fic, Dark!Harry and Voldemort-adopts-Harry fic.
> 
> Symbolism of flowers (based on Japan's hanakotoba):
> 
> Red spider lily (Lycoris):  
>  "Passion"  
>  "Independence"  
>  "To Meet Once More"  
>  "Reconciliation"  
>  "Rebirth"  
>  "You are the only one I think about"  
>  "I look forward to seeing you once more"  
>  "Sorrowful Memories"  
>  Note: Red spider lilies are also usually used in Japanese funerals.
> 
> Casablanca (White Lily)  
> Note: The white lilies are actually Casablanca lilies. Since this was in Voldemort's perspective, he didn't specify it was Casablanca lilies because he didn't know the exact type of lily they were. (even if Tom Riddle was smart, I don't think he'll take the time to memorize every kind of lilies out there)  
> Meanings of white lilies in general:  
>  "Innocence"  
>  "Dignity"  
>  "Single-mindedness"  
>  "Luscious"  
>  "Cleanliness" (Buddhism)  
>  Meanings specific to the Casablanca Lilies:  
>  "Dignity"  
>  "Purity"  
>  "Nobility"


End file.
